“My dear sister, you need assistance,” interrupted Thorpe. “You must let me help you to the house and obtain proper care for you,” and he tenderly attempted to lift her to her feet.
“No, no, no!” she quickly responded; “I—shall be better in a few moments. Just a little—quiet rest, John, and alone, please. I shall soon be well again.”
“As you desire, Virginia; but I shall tell Mrs. Harris.”
“No, no, John! Don’t tell her! I wish to be alone for awhile.”
“Very well, dear; as I have a message for Mr. Harris, shall seek him at the house; but I will return in a few moments,” and then, considerate for her wish to be alone, he left her.
Helpless to resist the impetus of her consuming desire to reunite John and his wife, Constance, she yet dreaded the aftermath of the shock his discovery must surely produce. Virginia knew not which way to turn or what course to pursue.
“Oh, Auntie! Auntie! I’m so glad you’ve come. Mamma is coming to see me, too. Isn’t she?” and Dorothy, having caught sight of Virginia, ran to her, and then, not to be denied, in her childish way climbed up on the bench beside her and affectionately clasped her little arms about her neck.
“Papa doesn’t like her,” she proceeded, in a low, serious, confidential manner, “and wants me not to like her, too. But I shall like her. I shall always love-dear mamma-as-long-as-I-live!” The last few words were uttered in a quivering voice, but with a decision that appeared marvelous in one so young.
Folding her arms about the child, Virginia fondly looked into her eyes. “God bless you, sweet, winsome soul!” And then they kissed.
“Aunty, won’t you take me to mamma?” pleaded the child. A ray of light had at last unexpectedly illumined a path for Virginia to pursue. Suddenly releasing the child, she arose to her feet and said, with animation: “Some good may come of it. I will seek Mrs. Harris and have her detain John while I bring Constance—and Dorothy together—before he meets her. Yes, darling,” she said, taking Dorothy’s hand; “you shall see your mother.”